by Alex Janaway
‘I see them!’ said Hassan, excitedly.
Killen couldn’t see a damn thing. There! Movement against the wall, shapes rushing towards it. What looked like a figure being hauled from the ramparts and falling to the ground.
‘Major?’ asked Rashad.
Killen looked at him. Right then. He stood and drew his sword.
‘Everyone. To that bloody gate!’ he bellowed and took off at full tilt.
He heard his force emerge from the treeline either side of him, and then they were all on the trail leading up the slope to the ridgeline. It only took moments for his breathing to grow harder, more laboured, as the burst of excited energy left his muscles. Others, mainly his scouts, started to outpace him, shouldering past as they reached the summit. As his right arm started to ache he noticed that his scouts all had their blades or bows strapped to their backs. Of course they did, why hadn’t he thought of that? He felt the sweat start to bead up in his hairline, the heat start to pulse from his head. On the ridgeline itself the pain in his legs eased off with the gradient. Larsen was just ahead, his bow and arrow clutched in his hands. To Killen’s side, Hassan was keeping pace, the lad’s face shining. He grinned at Killen who could do little more than nod back. Many of his scouts and some of the Highlanders had made the gate, but it was still shut. Had something gone wrong? Had the surprise failed? What of Owen? Even as these thoughts sped through his mind the right-side gate swung open and his troops streamed inside.
‘Yes!’ he shouted, forgetting his position for a moment; luckily everyone was too engaged to notice.
A few seconds later and he had reached the entrance as well. He paused at the gateway to breathe and take stock, and found a body lying on the ground, one of the sentries. He stepped through and over it and into Eagle’s Rest. Ahead of him a gaggle of scouts and Highlanders had formed a skirmish line. To one side, Saul and another of the Highlanders stood guard. On the parapet, Sadad waved down. He and the others were crouched faced inward, their bows ready. He spied another couple of bodies on the ground by the gate.
‘Major,’ said Rashad, giving him a salute as he approached.
Killen nodded.
‘The gateway is secured. We have encountered a little resistance, but we are in good order.’
‘Very good, Captain. Let’s take the courtyard.’
Rashad bobbed his head and ran towards the skirmish line, barking orders. The gaggle of troops and Highlanders pressed forward.
‘Major?’
He turned towards Saul. The man’s face was blacked with char, lined with streaks of the sweat that had run down his face.
‘Saul, did you lose anyone?’ Killen asked.
Saul shook his head.
‘We got lucky. They were too busy watching the show inside. Your men were up and over that wall faster than I could blink. Those sentries never stood a chance.’ Saul bit the inside of his cheek, thoughtfully. ‘I think we need to build it higher.’
Killen felt no small measure of pride in his people, even if he himself had done nothing more than run up a hill. But it wasn’t over yet.
‘I’m going in,’ said Killen. ‘Care to join me?’
Saul nodded and led the way. Killen followed. Hassan was still with him, his blade drawn. Killen returned his to its scabbard for the time being.
The way ahead was well lit by braziers. Between them and the light of Mercid, the course of the skirmish was clear. Several more bodies lay on the ground. None appeared to be Erebeshi. Ahead, his people were taking up position just in front of the hall. More were flanking around to encircle it. This was all as expected. Now it was just a case of whether they could be treated with or forced out. Fire was an option they might have to use, though it would be a terrible end. In the centre of the courtyard three more bodies. Here he stopped, remembering the plan; the lad’s courageous and terrible gamble. Was Owen one of the fallen?
It was an instinctive shot, made from years of practice. Even so, he had had no time to take aim. The bolt took Gerat just below his right shoulder blade and he fell backwards on to the stairs. Folk started screaming and shouting. A few people made for the gate. Others ran back into the hall. Several came down the steps straight for him, pausing at Gerat who was blocking the stairs, squirming, his left hand clutching the wound. Owen took advantage of that pause, dropping his crossbow and retrieving the spear from his back.
Why had they not shot him yet? Maybe they never did anything without Gerat’s say so.
‘Fucking kill him!’ Gerat screeched.
OK, that decision was made. Bedwyr and the other guard scrambled down the steps to meet him while others helped Gerat up. Owen set his spear against his side and went to meet them. As Bedwyr drew near Owen took a few running steps to close the gap and thrust high at Bedwyr’s exposed neck. Blood flowed from the spearpoint as it pierced the skin. It was not a deep thrust, but enough to stop Bedwyr in his tracks. Owen pulled his spear back and described a wide arc left to right, causing the guard to jump away uttering a surprised howl of pain as the blade caught his arm. Owen started to retreat towards the brazier. He’d had to be quick with that first attack. Trying to keep two opponents at bay was hard.
He walked backwards, carefully listening for any flankers. There were all kinds of commotion going on down at the gate but he could not spare a glance. Bedwyr was following up on him quickly, ignoring the wound on his neck, an axe in one hand, a knife in the other. He was wary, far too clever to be reckless. Owen kept his spear low, feinting, jabbing and Bedwyr kept stepping out of reach. There was no panic or fear in his eyes, and he wore a grim smile. Bedwyr was a killer.
‘You shouldn’t have come back, Owen,’ he said.
Owen didn’t respond. The other one, with the sliced arm, was starting to recover, and was also closing in on him.
‘Your friends? They all died screaming, pleading for their lives.’ Bedwyr spat to one side. ‘No fucking dignity.’
Did this fool really think baiting him would work?
The wounded guard rushed him, the glint of a sword raised high.
Owen jabbed fast at Bedwyr then swung round to meet the charge, whipping his spear low, like a branch, slamming it into the man’s legs.
The man thumped to the floor, breath rushing from him in a gasp.
Owen struggled to turn as he wrestled his spear to a horizontal blocking position to catch the solid ‘thunk’ of Bedwyr’s axe.
Gasping, he swung the spear down, striking Bedwyr’s arm, seeing the gleam of a knife blade. In one fluid motion, he threw his weight into a clockwise spin that dragged the spear free of the grip of the axe, and slammed into Bedwyr’s side.
The axe flew free as the knife blade came at him, Bedwyr slashing high as Owen ducked, ramming the spear butt to catch his assailant in the chin.
Bedwyr staggered. Owen had the spearhead round and thrust it into Bedwyr’s stomach, twisting as he stabbed.
He pulled the spear out and the Scotian was on his knees, a look of confusion on his face.
Then, something else flashed across his gaze, a shift of attention in the quickly dimming eyes.
Owen spun round. Too late. The fist slammed into him. His nose exploded in pain as he rocked backwards. Stars danced in front of him. He tried to raise his spear. It was batted aside as a hand grabbed his jacket. He saw the second punch coming and tried to brace, but couldn’t. As his legs began to wobble, he was aware that the pain had been less sharp. He supposed he was losing consciousness. Hands pushed him down on to his back. He felt his fingers still closed around the spear now pinned against his stomach.
A great weight fell on him.
‘Think you are so fucking clever, don’t you?’ hissed Gerat. He shook Owen hard, lifting him off the ground then slamming him down. ‘You should have fucking shot me properly!’ Gerat shook him again and Owen’s head swam. He couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t get his body to work.
‘You want to see us all burn?’ said Gerat. ‘Then I’ll burn this fucking place down.’
‘Myra,’ mumbled Owen.
‘What?’
‘Myra. You think she’d be proud of what you have done?’
Gerat stopped for a second and blinked. It was the reprieve Owen needed. He released his grip on the spear.
‘Don’t you speak of her. Don’t you fucking dare!’ shouted Gerat, spittle flying into Owen’s eyes. Gerat lifted him up again, ready to drive him back into the ground and smash his skull.
Owen reached up and gripped Gerat’s head, pressing his thumb into an eye. With his free hand he sought the crossbow bolt. His questing fingers found the shaft and twisted it.
Gerat howled and tried to push Owen off, but Owen held tight to the bolt. He felt the soft tissue of the eye give way. Gerat shook and thrashed and finally won free, scrambling away.
Breathing heavily Owen looked for a weapon. Bedwyr’s axe lay just a few inches away. He picked it up and crawled after Gerat. The man was on his front, shaking his head, growling like a wounded bear.
Owen raised the axe high and brought it down on to Gerat’s back. Once, twice, as Gerat bucked and writhed. A third chop and Gerat collapsed into himself, his spine giving way.
The growling become mewling.
‘You are a disgrace. You don’t deserve to live,’ Owen hissed.
He raised the axe one more time and buried it into Gerat’s head. The mewling stopped. Owen sat up. He struggled to take in air, his breath was ragged. The flickering light of the brazier cast shadows all around. The others he had fought were not moving. Were they dead? He could see others in the square. There was shouting. But it all felt detached, like he was in a dream. What was happening in the hall? He couldn’t see. He didn’t care. He felt too damned tired and there was nothing else he could do. Owen closed his eyes and fell backwards.
He heard some people draw close.
‘He looks like shit. Is he alive? Is he still breathing?’
Another voice, oddly accented. A hand touching his forehead.
‘Yes. He lives.’
‘Owen?’
‘Uh?’
‘Listen, lad. This is going to hurt like a bastard.’
‘Wha–?’
Owen felt his shoulders being restrained, gently but firmly. Then two hands rested themselves against his cheeks. He felt pressure and then screaming pain. He howled and he swore, as the pressure centred itself where his nose should be. He felt something shift and click. And then the pressure stopped.
‘Alright, that should do it.’
The hands released his shoulders.
Owen opened his eyes and tried to blink away the seemingly endless flow of tears.
‘Alright, lad? Owen?’
‘Saul?’
The man’s leathery face swam into view.
‘Thought I’d just to go ahead and set the bugger now. You’ll look real pretty for the next few weeks.’
‘What?’
‘Your nose. Not sure you’ll ever have your good looks again, mind you.’
‘My nose?’
‘You still got your wits, Owen?’ asked Anneli, placing a hand on his shoulder. She was hunkered down next to him.
‘Um. Yes.’ It was coming back to him now. He wiped his streaming eyes. ‘We in?’
‘We’re in,’ acknowledged Saul. ‘Plan worked like a dream.’
‘What happened?’
‘Better we show you,’ said Saul. ‘Come on, let’s help him up.’ Anneli and Saul took a side each and gently got him on to his feet. A searing pain from the back of his head made him stagger.
‘That’s gonna hurt for a while,’ said Saul. ‘Almost cracked your skull open by the looks of it. Best you take it easy when we’re done.’
Owen closed his eyes and waited for the pain and dizziness to pass. He felt unsteady on his feet, like the ground was swaying. He opened them again and took in his surroundings. He was in the roosting barn, his back to the wall.
‘We thought we’d get you out of bowshot, just in case,’ explained Anneli.
‘Here,’ said Saul, taking an elbow and escorting him to the exit. The door was open and he stepped through into bright sunlight. He hadn’t noticed that in the barn. How long had he been out for?
Looking on to the courtyard, he saw a ring of soldiers behind a range of improvised barriers and screens. Others were occupying the surrounding buildings. There were bodies on the ground. The braziers still glowed. The doors to the hall were shut.
‘Did we lose anyone?’ he asked.
Saul shook his head.
‘A few knocks, some cuts, and one arrow in the leg.’
Owen sighed in relief. That was good. That was very good.
‘The bastards lost a dozen or so. And now we have them surrounded.’
‘What’re they doing?’
‘Not much. They’re taking the occasional pot shot.’
‘And what are we doing?’
Saul placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Waiting for you.’
The three of them left the safety of the barn and moved at a pace towards the gate. Every step jarred Owen’s head, and he winced with the pain. They slowed as they reached the square. Waiting for him was Major Killen, Captain Rashad and Larsen.
‘Good to see you,’ said Larsen, with a warm smile and outstretched hand.
‘You too,’ said Owen, taking the hand and gripping it tight.
‘Well done, Owen. Got to say, that was a ballsy move,’ said Killen.
‘You are quite the fighter,’ agreed Rashad. ‘But you should try harder not to get killed.’
Owen shrugged. ‘Believe me. I was trying.’
‘Yes, that we can see,’ said Killen, appraising Owen’s nose.
‘What is the situation?’ Owen asked.
Killen pointed towards the hall.
‘Your diversion worked perfectly. Once we gained entry, it was a simple matter to push on and take most of the settlement. Their resistance was light, uncoordinated. They withdrew into the hall and sealed it tight. A few shots were exchanged but for the most part they’ve stayed quiet. We now have them completely surrounded.’
‘Gerat?’
‘He’s dead. Still on the ground where you left him,’ said Larsen.
‘Then they’ve got no one in charge,’ said Owen. ‘Chances are there might be one or two of his cronies left. And they’ll be keeping the others in line.’
‘What’s the plan?’ asked Saul.
‘We going to smoke them out?’ offered Larsen.
Owen shook his head. ‘Not with our people inside. And let’s not forget, they haven’t used them to bargain with yet.’ He turned and put his hands on his hips. ‘It’s time to negotiate.’
‘Is that smart?’ asked Larsen. ‘Why do they get a second chance?’
‘We can’t be like Gerat. We have to be better than that. Like I said before, I believe that these folk just fell in with the wrong crowd, the wrong leader. They were just trying to survive.’
Larsen and Saul both looked sour but didn’t argue the point.
‘Major?’ asked Owen.
Killen looked at Rashad then back at Owen. ‘As you ask my advice, I would say they are beaten and they know it. If you throw them a bone, they’ll take it.’
That’s what Owen figured too. ‘I’m going to talk to them.’
‘Seriously?’ asked Larsen, throwing his hands up in the air.
‘You really have a death wish, Owen,’ said Saul, with a sad shake of his head.
‘At least let us give you some cover,’ offered Killen.
‘Fine,’ replied Owen, ‘but I need to do this.’
He turned and slowly made his way across the square. The others fell in behind him except for Captain Rashad who hurried forward barking orders in Erebeshi. Owen saw them draw bows and take a bead on the hall’s entrance. He hoped it wouldn’t be needed. His party stopped at the edge of the steps. He looked up at his home and started to speak. ‘You know who I am and I am here to broker peace. I know you are scared. You think that it’s
over. In a way, it is.’ He paused for a moment. A wave of pain and nausea washed over him. When he was sure he wasn’t going to pass out, he continued.
‘I know most of you haven’t had any choices for a long time. That joining Gerat and following his lead was the only option left to you. And then you came here. You walked for a thousand miles and found a safe haven and people ready to welcome you. And instead Gerat decided to destroy that. Because of what you did, what you allowed to happen, good people died.’ He paused. For a moment, even he doubted whether he should offer this. But then he remembered who he was, what he had sworn to do. He was still an Eagle Rider, sworn to protect the Empire, humanity itself. His father’s face appeared in his mind, then Murtagh. Good people. What would they have him do?
‘We are at war. But our war is not with each other. Our enemies lie to the east. Will I forget what you did? Never. But we are all that’s left, and the fight must go on. We have to fight to reclaim our place in this world. To gain vengeance for everyone we have lost and loved. I give you one last chance. Rejoin humanity. Rejoin the Empire and fight!’ Owen stood, listening to his words echo. He waited for a few moments more. ‘You have five minutes to pledge your allegiance or we will take this place back by force. I hope you make the right decision.’ Then he turned and made his way back to the others. He could see Larsen, his arms folded, looking grim. Saul, still shaking his head. Owen could sense the tension of the Highlanders and Erebeshi troops, the expectation of what might come next. And then a noise sounded behind him. And Killen’s eyes grew wide.
Owen turned.
The doors to the hall opened and a man stepped out. Owen squinted. He didn’t recognise him.
‘Do you mean it? Do we have your word you won’t just kill us?’ asked the man.
Owen walked back up towards him. He could see the fellow was older, grey-bearded.
‘Yes,’ he said, simply. ‘You do.’
The man looked back inside for a moment and then nodded. He took a step forward.
‘Gerat lied to us,’ said the man. ‘He said you couldn’t be trusted, that there was no other way.’
Owen stopped, momentarily confused.
Then, moving out from behind the greybeard and into the sunlight, came Naimh. She stood, blinking. As her eyes alighted on Owen, her face broke into a smile. Then more emerged. Women and children mostly. A few men, Malcolm the smith among them. Faces he had not seen in months. And there was Jenni. Oh Gods. She looked terrible.